Moonflower

Moonflower

© Jennifer K. Marsh 2015

There once was a man so holy of heart,
though oft times he wondered when his life would start;
he roamed through his town with his shadow forlorn,
beset by a sense that the world he must mourn.
For, though holy his heart, a piece was misplaced,
which could not be found with imprudent haste –
like flowers that blossom with each merry spring,
the timing of Grace is a delicate thing.

And as this man rambled through well-trodden streets
he yearned for a beauty for his eyes to greet,
but where could he find such delight to the eye
when all his surrounds were a joy so denied?
How this man yearned for the blush of a flower
to inspire a smile through his lonely hours!
And so with a sigh and a drop of his head,
he wandered away to meet what lay ahead.

His feet led the way, knowing not where they went,
but being a vagrant bettered silent laments;
he would wander afar to seek what had been lost,
through valleys and tors, and sunshine and frost.
Perhaps, so he thought, if he ventured these lands,
someday he’d return with a flower in hand,
for with hope in his step and with faith in his soul
he would find the stray piece to make his heart whole.

Ever onwards he went, though the flowers he saw
were pretty and special, and yet nothing more –
he saw flowers of peach, of pink and of blue,
but knew that in spirit for others they grew.
Though he was perplexed by the flowers in sight,
for they wilted not beneath the blazing sunlight;
they were as gentle and as fair as could be
and suffered none in the heat – which was not so for he.

How he longed for the shade as he journeyed the dale!
Alas, no trees he found to offer avail.
The sky above had not even a cloud
to ease the travail he felt on the ground.
Only woe he had found as he travelled abroad,
and so, with despair, he cried out to the Lord:
“Why must my heart bear such sorrow as this!
Why is your Grace not enough for my bliss!”

So passed the day ’til the sun’s fall was due,
for the dusk welcomed he with a heavenly hue.
Relief was his own when the heat fell away,
and so he awaited the nightly display;
soon he would see the diamond dance of the stars
and moonstruck he’d be by the light of afar.
His wonder so grew for the dark mystery –
a vision of glory so melancholy!

But then as he trod ever marvelling still,
providence sang over wind-smitten hills;
it taught him of patience – his heart would soon sing! –
for he was so blessed, and a lover of spring.
The truth of these words he could not deny,
but his heart still wept for a flower to find.
But then his eyes met, on the horizon faint,
the shape of a tree that compelled to acquaint.

The tree greeted him with a smile and said,
“Hail, weary traveller, may my roots make your bed!
Dear child of God, I bid you rest beside me,
for you are my keeper and in return I keep thee.”
The man offered his thanks, expressed humble and true,
but the tree spoke again, for foretelling he knew:
“I have heard word that a flower you seek:
Turn and behold! The Lord’s flowers are meek.”

The man turned and beheld but he could not admire,
for this flower was frigid and stirred no desire;
she hid her bloom from the light of the sun
and retired her beauty to instead only shun.
But though this was so, he was caught by intrigue,
for what flower can hide with such quiet mystique?
How would she be if she opened her heart?
Would she be fearful, or broken, or dark?

The tree chuckled and said, with much good intent,
“You know in your heart this here flower I meant!”
The man did respond, “But how is this so?
For she is no heavenly image I know.”
And the tree so replied, “And so that should be,
since her beauty is only for your eyes to see!
She has been waiting for her sacred spring,
for the timing of Grace is a delicate thing!”

He sat down in thought, pondering over his plight
as he was amongst the ever darkening light.
So came to be the sky faded to black
and the stars sparked to life for him to gaze at;
they waltzed around the moon’s silver throne,
but how could it be the moon seemed so alone?
And yet, even so, it was the sphere of peace,
and night brought him many a sentiment sweet.

But then he noticed amidst the gentle moonshine
that now arose Grace, for the timing was nigh:
the flower, with care, did open her bloom
beneath the pale light of the moon.
Her petals were bold in a delicate white –
an angel that shone in God’s holy light!
Her beauty was more than he could ever tell:
she was the moonlight’s own precious belle.

But what did he see when she opened her heart?
She held a fragment – his heart’s missing part.
She was of heaven, this he now knew,
for within her the Holy Ghost surely grew;
she was his gift for his heart so divine –
the piece he had always been yearning to find.
With blessings abound the Lord showed him the One,
and his heart was anew – a new life had begun!

Nevermore would this man pine through the hours,
for he had found her – his little moonflower.

moonflower


It has been a while since I have done anything on this blog, and an even longer while since I have written/shared a poem. I believe I’ve said before that I never write poetry unless deeply compelled to, and ‘Moonflower’ came to be in quite a… Well, I was cleaning the house when out of nowhere the idea popped up in my mind. I knew I had to let this one out. I don’t think I’ve ever written such a long poem, either – it just kept on going and going! Still, it tells a story, so it’s okay.

As for the odd (and not desperately wonderful) sketch I did to accompany the poem… I’m not quite sure what happened with that, to be perfectly honest. It wasn’t supposed to be what it ended up as. I planned to draw a tree with a man kneeling by it, admiring a blooming flower in the moonlight, but, when I sat down at my desk with pencil in hand, the above happened. For whatever reason, I drew a woman’s hand with the flower coming out of it… And the rest is history. Make of it what you will.

We have all heard of the glorious sunflower, yes? It is sunshine in a flower, blooming and flourishing in the sunlight.

But did you know there is a moonflower? What a gentle thing this flower is! It does not bloom during the day, but rather once the sun has set. It blooms throughout the night.

Lovelovelovelovelove

I want a garden full of moonflowers, so I may see its white beauty, and feel as if the moon’s essence dwells before me in a delicate flower once the night falls. And maybe these moonflowers can be grown amongst some sunflowers, for when one opens the other rests, and the sun is a joy to behold! The sun and the moon, different as they may be, are very much one. Though, for me, my heart lives on the moon.

An aside: I wrote a little song about the sun and the moon once – a ‘love’ story, if you will, between the two. 

‘So the two share the sky, though at differing times,

yet they long to know something more.

Can the sun hide away?

Can the moon see the day?

Would their yearning soon make them fall?’

***

I feel very much like the man in the poem at the moment. A wanderer. Lonely. Mourning what is not there to be mourned. Maybe I too should wander away in pursuit of my flower… *sigh* 

*

May you find your flower, be it one of the sun or the moon,

and be at peace, my friends.

Blessings keep you,

~JKM

Sketching with Sincerity

Salutations, all!

So.

My inspiration has been absent for months now, and recently life has been a trial, so I apologise about my lack of posts and thereof lack of creative posts. This is yet another not-very-creative post… I’m not really sure where to go.

‘He was endlessly spinning on the spot amidst the heart of thick smoke, and it stung his eyes so he could not see, losing all sense of purpose and direction, so even the smallest step forward was a blind one.’

A little quote from Book 2, there. That pretty much sums up how I’ve been feeling for months – on a creative level, you understand. Yet again, progress on Book 2 has been unbearably slow, due to other life influences and my emotional state. Ughhhhhhhhh. This broken record will surely result in my insanity, I’m telling you.

Anyway…

Recently I’ve taken it upon myself to re-write some Ilimoskus songs from Book 1. Why I’m making more work for myself, I don’t know, but it feels right to do this. I’ve been sat at my piano losing the will to live, though, for making Kurpian rhyme is quite possibly one of the worst things on this earth. It is so difficult with all it’s stupid syntax and grammar rules. What idiot created such a moronic language? … 😉

With this new-found focus I have for my story this year, it is only natural I should link things back to it. Today is Prince Stevick’s birthday – all snow! – and as a little ‘gift’, if you will, I said I would draw him something for it. Ilimoskus-related, of course.

As occupies the vast majority of our conversations, a little while back we were talking about Countdown (what else, really?). Those of you not from the UK – and thus unfortunate enough not to know what Countdown is – it is a game show. Visit Stevick’s blog to see for yourselves. Now, Stevick is deeply in love with Susie Dent who is the lady behind Dictionary Corner on the programme, and he declared that she is more beautiful than the moon, which I found to be quite something, given how much Stevick loves the moon. And so, naturally, I thought about the Ilimoskus.

The Agwikus (water folk) are linked to the beautiful moon, and thus you will commonly see them out embracing the night-time, for this time resonates in their souls. And, the moon is linked to the sea and tides, and because the Agwikus dwell in the sea it is only natural they should have such a deep connection to the silver circle of the night’ – as the Ilimoskus refer to it in their tongue.

All this then made me think of something else Stevick and I once talked about. Yeeeeeaars ago, I once made a little personality quiz entitled ‘Which Ilyor Would You Be in?’ or, in English, ‘Which Element Dwells in Your Heart?’ I told him about this, and as a laugh I did this quiz with him last year. And which element was he? Water. The Agwikus.

Which takes me back to Susie Dent and Stevick’s declaration that she is more beautiful than the moon. “Darling Susie”, he said – a play on my ‘Darling Moon’ song and poem.

And so, behold the little sketch I did:

susie-niia

As you can see, here is Stevick the Agwikus hailing the Darling Susie Moon by the coast.

And he is proclaiming:

deckur

“Thial, Susie-niia! Thial, Oceaniia! Helchir’abeiim od amoat! Smiigok wri yer lu!”

“All hail Darling Susie! All hail the Darling Moon – the most beautiful of all! I so live for your words!”

Which Stevick does, you know. He lives for Susie Dent’s Origins of Words.

(I love the Kurpian word oceaniia. It reminds me of ‘oceanic’, and I love the sea. But, this Kurpian word actually means ‘the beloved moon’, or rather ‘darling moon’. And the sea and moon are linked anyway! It isn’t pronounced “ocean-ee-ah“, though, it’s, “oh-see-ah-nee-ah”. Which I think is quite fun to say, personally.)

junu

Jun umeraard-ite, Stevick!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

From Jenona,

x

***

On the subject of gifts, I would like to take this moment to thank my wonderful friend Alex for the gift she sent me at the beginning of the year. I truly love it.

alexnecklace

She sent me this necklace (ignore the little cross, that’s not part of it). That she made! Amazing. Touched beyond words that she did this for me. She said the green marble reminded her of nature, and that in turn reminded her of me, and the little acorn top came from an oak tree in her neighbourhood. Not only do I now wear a thoughtful gesture of kindness and friendship around my neck and close to my heart, but also a little part of Canada. ^^

Thank you so much, Alex!!

It blesses me, and may you be blessed in return.

***

Finally, I end with this:

I tried to draw Fii’dezrhu the other day and it nearly reduced me to tears because I cannot draw and I most certainly cannot draw those DARN Ilimoskus. Honestly. Why are they so against letting me draw them?! (or why am I so bad at drawing them…) But, here is the no-where-near-finished sketch I did of Rhu…

rhusketch

Ugh. Can you see those circles on his shoulder? That is the outline of little Flee. Now, I say ugh, but I don’t think this sketch was too bad. But then I made the mistake of using colour over it (because if I am drawing these Ilimoskus then I want their features to be fully appreciated!), and by doing this I completely ruined it. Sigh. So now I have to re-draw Fii’dezrhu. Every single time I use colour on a close-up sketch, I ruin it. I don’t know how I manage it. It’s quite a skill, if you ask me. Maybe I should keep the close-ups merely as pencil, and the distance sketches can be colour…

But, here’s something: a beautiful friend of mine contacted me the other day asking questions about the Ilimoskus. I rang him, wishing to get to the bottom of this sudden questioning, and it turns out he wants to create/draw the Ilimoskus on this photoshop program or something. He wants to bring them to life for me. I love that man, the beautiful soul he is. So, maybe someday I will be able to share his drawings with you. I’m sure they’ll be magnificent.

He’ll do them far more justice than I will trying to draw them, anyway o_O’

Visions Deep

For the past month or so, I’ve had a strange phenomenon occur within my life.

I am someone who very frequently has visions deep – by which I just mean very deep dreams (I use the term ‘visions deep’ in my poetry all the time, so if you ever see me use it, I’m talking about dreams 😉 ) – and I remember many of them well, often to my misfortune, for my visions deep are usually incredibly dark things… I normally have ‘nightmares’ so frequently that I don’t even regard them as nightmares anymore – they’re merely “bad dreams.” For example, one of my more recent bad dreams was about this man who murdered his girlfriend, and I saw him tie her to a chair and scrape the skin off her arm with a meat cleaver before hacking her arm off at the elbow. The screams still haunt me.

I would probably severely disturb most people if I told them about some of the other bad dreams I’ve had, and indeed, I shudder upon recalling them myself. That one I just mentioned is by far not the worst one I’ve ever had. Sometimes, the worst ones are not the ones with the most harrowing screams, but rather the ones that leave me feeling as though, in the waking world, there are still haunting eyes upon me. Somewhere.

Which is why, whenever I have a nice dream, it is such a special thing because they are so rare for me, and I end up remembering them in far greater detail than my vivid bad dreams. They are indeed like stumbling across a diamond after so many bitter-black coals, and I store each diamond beneath my pillow so I may remember that, every now and then, a precious jewel will reveal itself to me.

So, this strange phenomenon is that I have been having nice dreams. I don’t want to jinx myself, but I can’t specifically remember the last time I had a nasty one… But I just want you to understand how rare nice dreams are for me: the last time I had a nice dream was in 2012. 2012. Jeez. Someone gave me a white lily flower. That’s it. But it was just so… It made such an unbelievable impact on me.

Last night, my vision deep was so gorgeous, yet still I am convinced that no other dream will ever make a greater impact on me than my lily dream. Even so, last night’s dream was so beautiful that I simply had to write it down and share it. Which is what I am doing in this post.

***

I was stood upon a hill, gazing out across the endless moorland while the cool wind refreshed my soul. It was dusk, and I looked up into the sky to see its gorgeous colours of deep blues and pinks. And then I looked to the setting sun, a glorious red, falling beyond the horizon. But then I noticed that beside the sunset was the moonrise, the tip of a luminous silver crown ascending over the edge of the world. I felt my heart burst with a joy I am yet to know in my waking life, for I knew what was about to transpire: a rare glimpse of a dreamland transition between the day and the night. The red sun continued to set while the silver moon continued to rise, and I watched, anticipated, with bated breath, waiting for the moment. So it came when the sun and the moon aligned on horizon’s edge, and the brightest eruption of white light was cast across the sky and the hills, and then I looked back to the sky, and I gazed, wonderbound, as the dusky sky gradually unrolled, so delicately, to reveal the black silk of the night sky laced with a thousand gleaming crystal stars. And there I stood, basking in the moonlight which painted the moors in metallic precision, and the starlight stunned me, for so many stars there were in the sky it was as though I was falling through the centre of a galaxy.

***

You see, I am so in love with nature that it even comes to me in my visions deep. ^^

I find myself wondering why, at the moment, I seem to be having such inoffensive, and often pleasant, dreams, and I wonder how much longer they will last. But then, maybe I shouldn’t wonder; maybe I should just accept the nightly happenings and make the most of this stash of diamonds I have been handed on a golden tray. If there are enough diamonds on this tray to last for months on end, then great! If not, that’s okay too, for as I said: I store all my diamonds beneath my pillow, and I remember them with such fondness that no number of bitter-black coals could ever crush their memory.

Sunshine Award

sunshine-award

A while back I was nominated for some blog awards, so I thought it was about time I got around to doing them. In advance, I apologise for the surge of award posts that are to come. Clearly, there are awards bursting from the screen over here… (not really)

In February, Alex at Valourborn nominated me for this award, for which I thank her greatly. It’s funny how an imaginary, totally digital ‘award’ can bring so much glee into a person’s life, is it not? Smiles galore, beaming from a nominee’s face just like the sun this particular award denotes. Okay, maybe I didn’t smile quite that much, but I did smile. Courteously, graciously – all the ways a dignified lady should. Not saying I’m a dignified lady, either. I’m in a strange mood tonight, I might just move on…

Such are the rules of this prestigious award:

1) Use the logo above in the post.
2) Link to whoever nominated you.
3) Write ten pieces of information about yourself.
4) Nominate ten fellow bloggers “who positively and creatively inspire others in the blogsphere.”
5) Leave a comment on the nominees’ blogs to tell them of the award.

So, now I have to tell you ten things about myself. Marvellous. Let’s make this interesting:

1) I have a serious, serious hatred for cucumber. I can’t even eat something else it has touched because I insist that I can still taste the cucumber. I’m pretty sure that’s just in my head, but still. HATE. Genuinely makes me wretch. Friends of mine always observe my ridiculously dramatic reaction whenever I happen to see cucumber on a plate, or in a sandwich, and like to say, “How can you NOT like cucumber? It’s basically just water.” Water from a sewer, then.

If anyone out there has read my story, Times of Old, you may appreciate this: How the character Uron is regarding mushrooms is basically how I am with cucumber.

2) I am severely intolerant to alcohol. Of all the things, eh…

3) I am also mildly intolerant to cream and soft cheeses. This proves to be quite the issue when I eat cheesecake, which basically consists of nothing but cream and soft cheese, but I just love it so much I endure the inevitable misery eating it will cause me. This intolerance to soft cheese also means I can’t really eat pizza. Oh, such woe.

4) There is little I dislike more than cooking dinner. For others? Not a problem, don’t mind it at all. For myself? Well, it basically just never happens. I go without most of the time, because I loathe cooking dinner for me alone. I really don’t know why, but there we go. I usually just end up with the classic beans on toast, or if I’m feeling really adventurous, veg and potatoes. I probably have some desperately grave, deep-rooted psychological issue with food, but what can ya do?

5) I’m a vegetarian, and I have been since the age of 11. I remember the moment I turned quite vividly (that sounds quite traumatic, doesn’t it? I TURNED INTO A VEGETARIAN WEREWOLF). I was sat outside in the summer, eating a hot dog, I think it was, and I got half way through it before suddenly stopping, putting it back on the plate and thinking, ‘I’m eating a pig. I don’t want to eat a pig.’ And so, from then on, I have been a vegetarian. I just do not feel comfortable eating an animal, so I don’t. If you can’t accept the reality of what you’re eating (i.e. an animal that has been killed for your consumption), you shouldn’t be eating it, and nor should you be eating meat if you couldn’t kill the animal yourself. Perhaps that one is a bit steep, but still, that’s my opinion. (I’m sensing a bit of a food theme here. Perhaps I should move on from it)

6) I am strangely, yet deeply, fascinated by the Finnish language. Heaven knows why.

7) I am the creator of three languages, which were all created for my wonderfully deep and involved fantasy story 🙂 I don’t just make up languages for the fun of it, although, that said, I do find it fun. I’m just a massive geek for language and etymology, you see. I could tell you ‘I think the silver moonlight is beautiful’ in all three languages. Would you like to see?

Irmqcoy ocabickt vroijirm fa helchir (This is the Ilimoskus’ language, right there 😉  I am practically fluent in this one. Of all the pointless things to be able to do in life, being almost fluent in a made-up language has got to be right up there)

Ormorqa te eljhra otkodenhkt iozvyjidv fa (This language is hideous to pronounce)

Itsikora jolaxe tu lasala ka rasga-en (And this language has foul grammar rules. FOUL.)

8) Linking with the previous fact, I am so obsessed with the moon. I am in love with it. Do you think it’s possible to marry the moon…? Seriously though, the moon makes my heart swell from its beauty and burst from an overload of inspiration and emotion. My favourite poem I’ve ever written is about the moon. Darling Moon. I think you should give it a read, if only for the sole reason I’m actually speaking positively about something I’ve done – that’s a great rarity, I can tell you.

9) I have seven piercings, which people always seem to be mildly surprised about.

10) I am terrified of train tracks beyond all reckoning. I know that sounds utterly ridiculous, but I genuinely am. Not trains, you understand, but train tracks. They are parallel lines of metallic doom. At the train station, I stand as far back as physically possible from the edge of the platform, watching on in horror as foolish individuals recklessly step over the yellow line, toying with death. It means I’m always the last on the train, and always end up with a lousy seat, but… you know. And level crossings? Holy moly. I can’t. I just can’t. I straight out refuse to cross over them, and if I do, I always end up in tears. It’s hilarious really, you’ve got to laugh.

So! There are my ten little pieces of information about myself. Aren’t I just the most fascinating person you’ve ever encountered? Now, onto the nominations:

A View from My Summerhouse

Proverbs Way

Kindness Blog

Ocean of Compassion

The Eye-Dancers

S (nice, short blog name, there)

There and Draft Again

Saint in Training

Concerning Writing

Eagle-eyed folk out there will notice that is actually nine nominations, not ten, but oh well. I’m sure the WordPress Award Police won’t be on my tail. Also, I’m pretty sure most of those have already been nominated, but again, oh well. I’m not really upholding a very enthusiastic attitude here, am I? Apologies.

***

Just to let followers of my blog know, after the tidal wave of award posts (by which I mean three, including this one), I have decided to stop mindlessly rambling and boring people with posts about my life, and instead focus on far more creative ones. So, in the near future, expect to see more poems, creative writing, and Ilimoskus related posts.

There Is Light

Quite recently I’ve been conversing with particular individuals and got the feeling that the world – humanity – is sighing at the moment. People I care about are sighing, and so am I. An everlasting sigh seems to be the song of my soul. But anyway, here I am writing something about it. It upsets me to see people caught under a rain cloud, so I will do all I possibly can to help them find the sun again. But I often ask myself: what can I do? Well, the only thing at which I am remotely able is crafting words… and so it is by words that I hope to help another, if only offering simple words of encouragement and hope.

Gloom and misery is everywhere we turn, or so it would seem. At least that’s the picture the media likes to paint. What colour are the words we read in our newspapers? BLACK. Darkness. These words speak of murder, kidnappings, rape, abuse, war, the low economy, the deficit, poverty, disasters (both natural and man-made). I could go on, I really could, but the point of this post is not to depress people, so stick with me, guys. This gets better.

With such darkness in the world, is it any wonder we love the sun? What a beautiful light it is shining down upon us, brightening the world into daytime and making us forget the shadows lingering around. Do you think that’s why so many people love the summer, because of the lengthy, light evenings, keeping the world lit just for that little bit longer? Do you think that’s why so many people hate the winter, because of the lengthy, dark evenings, plummeting us all into night for far longer than we can bear?

So the sun may be gone having sunk down beyond the horizon, but light can still be seen. What am I talking about? You know what I’m talking about. Everybody knows what I’m talking about. It just slips our minds, for the sun is such a strong character in the sky, and the other? Not so much. Yet even so, we are always forgiven, for this light never ceases. The light from the MOON. The moon is a shy little thing, don’t you think? It doesn’t demand attention like the sun, nor does it get carried away and burn our skin, and it takes about a month for it to muster up the courage to reveal its full self to us before waning back into hiding again. The sun, however, is a little bit selfish. It claims all light as its own during the day, shining so bright that it blocks out everything else in the sky. We see that one star: the big, warm, bright sun. But the moon likes to share the stage with all the billions of other stars above, and we see all their light as well as the moon’s.

I think we should remember that. The night – the darkness – does not need to be feared, as moonlight is the most precious source of light in this world, if only for what it can symbolise. I wrote something down the other day, something that just popped into my head, and that is ultimately the reason for writing this post. Hope.

For anyone whose soul is sighing, for anyone who is overcome by darkness, this is for you:

eidtil

In case you can’t read my handwriting, I shall translate the sprawl:

Silver moonlight in the night

shines down for all to see,

so where can the shadows hide

when even in darkness THERE IS LIGHT?

There is light, always. Open your eyes and you will see.

Alone.

I am sat here in the darkness, alone, and I can hear the church bells chime in the distance, singing in the night. Such a beautiful sound, yet shrill, is it not? The sound echoes in the hollows of my heart, so far away, so far away, so far away. Where are you, Singing Bells? I cannot seem to find you. I can only hear your faint noise calling me, upon the wind. Oh, how you beckon. If only I could find you, for I am lost within this night.

I am sat here in the darkness, alone, and I can see the lights shine in the distance, flickering on the sea. Such a beautiful sight, yet saddening, is it not? The sight dances in the portals of my eyes, so enchanting, so enchanting, so enchanting. How can I reach you, Flickering Light? I cannot seem to get to you. I can only watch your faint colour luring me, upon the waves. Oh, how you beckon. If only I could reach you, for I am trapped within this night.

I am sat here in the darkness, alone, and I can see the stars. How few there are. But each one is a diamond bright, a jewel in the sky, smiling down on every soul who says hello throughout this night. But where is The Moon? Where have you gone? Do not say goodbye. How I would love to see your face right now, dear Moon, and how I would love for your gentle touch to so comfort me, as your beams seep deep beneath my skin and light the way for my heart astray. Where are you? I need you. Come back to me.

I am alone here. It is so very dark.